When I say that you are my Sun, I don’t mean that you are Luminous, Brilliant, Gilded, Beautiful, Bold, Warm, Or even the center of my universe. I simply mean that I cannot look at you Without hurting
I used to read your poems but lately you don't write you're silent and aloof you know that isn't right. You can't close a door once opened you can't abolish all your dreams you're a poet of the heart mustn't fall apart at the seams. Say what you can in words they speak the message true spoken from the heart the poems will see you through. A hermit's not your style a recluse, you are not never give up writing of things that you've been taught. I used to read your poems I'd read them once again if you would send them out (this one's from a poet friend)
I miss you I miss me Like a furnace I was fed with coal and fuel but I was quite … Spitting out fire sparks every now and then Hurting no one but myself The heat pushed you away … Pushed everyone away Except for those who accidentally caught fire! In an attempt to cool down I blew steam into my soul Melting down every good memory … I thought by burning them down I would have nothing to lose … no one to mistrust… no one to “mislove”… I thought the calm ashes would finally bring me peace … Now here I am standing -buried in the suffocating ashes- waiting for a phoenix to emerge … I can see no phoenixes leaving this furnace …